Lattices of nightmare
by kiku65
Summary: Boba Fett in a short story, where he faces a nightmare from his past one only he knows about...until now...Rated for safety.
1. Chapter 1

Lattices' of nightmare

Boba Fett in a short story, where he faces a nightmare from his past- one only he knows about...until now...

This grew from a combination of a nightmare about Dementors (a la Harry Potter), speculation on what the worst memories of each of my favourite characters would be, and pictures of some limestone cavern somewhere in South America.

_**A very important tribute needs to be made before we begin.**_

**_Full thanks to my sister for the setting of the last dream, when I had severe writers block and couldn't think of anything at all. Also for the sequence of events. Gratis._**

Based in the period c6BBY.

**Chapter 1**

"_Dad! Dad, help me!"_

_He still wasn't coming, and she wouldn't let go..._

"_Dad!"_

_He was too far away to be heard... no-one could hear him scream in here._

"_Dad, please!"_

_His throat was raw with screaming, and still he wouldn't come. Until it was too late. Until his son was dead._

"Dad_!"_

_He woke._

Boba Fett, Mandalorian, legendary bounty hunter and feared icon of the galaxy's underworld opened sleep-gummed eyes in the bubble of reality swimming through nothing to void. As consciousness returned he felt his limbs shaking with adrenaline, the clothes under his armour soaked in icy sweat.

Now, out of sleeps clutches, he felt only disgust at himself for letting a nightmare affect him so. He was Boba Fett, son of Jango Fett, and not a child anymore to be scared of hallucinations and bad memories. Of dreams and illusion.

Breathing slowly to calm frayed nerves, he pulled himself upright in the seat and checked the controls of the _Slave 1_.

The readouts did what the breathing had started. Calm at the thought of exciting hyperspace in less than hour, he leaned back and closed his eyes. A favourite trick of his before a hunt was to imprint the image of his prey in his minds eye, a trick that often helped him unconsciously focus on likely individuals in a crowd.

And he would need it this time. The target was not just a petty debtor or unlucky criminal, but a_ Jedi_. Or, more precisely (and Fett prided himself on his preciseness) a _fallen_ Jedi.

Käzar Elask had been, by the standards of his colleagues, a good Jedi. Taken from Iridonia as a baby, raised in the Temple, he had given no indication of darkness or rebellion during his time as a youngling and apprentice. Coming into Knighthood before the start of the Clone Wars, by the end he had been slated for possible Mastery and a Padawan once his duties as a general died down.

The Purges had changed that. Hunted in an uncaring galaxy, mistrusted and betrayed by the Republic he had fought for, Elask had fled from backworld to forgotten planet to the dregs or the galaxy. Last reported sightings of him entering Nar Shadda had been five years ago, until a recent resurfacement on Aduba 3.

A violent resurfacement. The Käzar Elask who showed himself in the desert that day had slaughtered a flock of high-hounds that dared attack him, before going on to killing three more in a bid to steal their ship. Revenge had led him to the nearby planet of Rinn, and a battalion of dead Stormtroopers, and on to Kessel, and an ambushed convoy. A bloody trail of Imperial dead had been swathed across the galaxy by the rogue Jedi, catching the eye of the galaxy's rulers...

Fate had made Fett the perfect man to rid them of this particular problem. Trained by a legendary father, culturally inclined to hate any Jedi, fallen or not ­­­­­­­­and with a record of successful kills behind him already, he had been commed late one night by an Imperial aide and an offer of a straight million credits upon the procurement of the Jedi in question. Dead or alive.

As Fett fingered the E3 holstered at his side, he knew which of the two he preferred.

* * *

Cold black space frosted the window, as the Slave 1 tore the fabric of the universe to drop into a little known system in Wild Space. A hot yellow sun threw harsh shadows into the cockpit, dappled by the rings of the main planet, unnamed but for local mythology.

In their own tongue it was _Fara Gon Gna_, Home of the Gods.

Fett was not making for the Godshome, a supergiant gas planet filled with ferocious storms and crushing gravity, but for a smaller rock planet in its shadow. _Fara-Orilk_, Orilk Home, was a terrestrial mixture of chilly scrubland and tough forest that swung between wet chilly spring and a winter so cold the hardy tress had been known to explode in the frost. The locals consisted of fringer Humans, Twi'leks and native near-human Orilk. The latter had absorbed outsiders into their superstitious society, meaning most dirtsiders were primitive, suspicious and backwards.

The Mandalorian guided his ship to the biggest settlement, a town in the northern hemisphere known only as Orilk 1. 2 and 3 had apparently fallen prey to groundquakes brought on by the centurial meteors, a phenomenon that accounted for to crystal deposits in the higher regions.

Most of the buildings were wooden or course grey stone, with small heat-conserving windows and thick board doors with iron pegs. The native Orilk, fanged and orange-eyed with crests of white fur along their spines and skulls, mixed with humans and humanoids in the slushy streets. All stared at the armoured bounty hunter as he stepped through the mire to a transport rental on the far side, E3 tightly held in one freezing gloved hand.

The feral-faced local at the door had long since lost any mechanical vehicles in his care, the rental yard converted to a stable years since. Bovine white-wooled grazers and sleeker grey omnivores were all he had left, and they weren't for sale for useless credits. Eventually he was persuaded to rent for a crate of dried rations and a promise of non-violence from his impatient customer.

Fett kicked the grey runner onwards, galloping from the town to the outermost villages of the foothills.

* * *

Käzar Elask had eventually tired of mindless slaughter, deciding to hide for a while, recover his strength and unleash at an unknown time his recuperated power on the Empire. Looking for a safe haven, his eye had fallen on an obscure, backwards Wild Space planet outside Imperial control, a perfect place to rest for a little.

Often the fallen have boasted greater power than their more ethical colleagues, backed up by displays of might to persuade the unbelievers. The Jedi had always held their claim to be untrue, citing that the darkside was merely easier and quicker to use, the light allowing connection to every living thing rather than relying on passion and selfishness for power.

Käzar knew this, had been taught it since early infancy, but now as his mind rode the thermals around his lair with the raptor-birds; he decided that the Jedi must have been mistaken in at least some ways. As the avian swooped down closer to the figure struggling on runner-back through the leaf litter, he rejoiced in the controlled drop and gloated over his unknowing enemy, whispering a promise.

_Soon, bounty hunter. Sooooon. You will die screaming._

A mile away in a cold cavern, his body shook with laughter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

Dazzling reds and white, patches of silver, shots of living gold and streaks of green arched over the sky in a rainbow, backdropped in golden-orange by the holy planet beyond that it orbited. Constantly moving, constantly melting into new fantastic shapes, it was no surprise that the ground dwellers below had first named it _Hoff Gon Gna_, Bridge of the Gods. Pathway to Paradise. And yet there was magic enough around them to make this seem almost trivial.

Seers and shamans, spirits and devils in abundance. From what the elders in the highest village had babbled at him, Fett was in danger of losing his soul, mind and body less than four local hours from stepping from the boundaries. Hidden in the folklore were warnings of the real dangers in the mountains- rockfalls, carnivore packs and mud traps in the crevices, ready to swallow a man. Most of the imagined dangers were weak things warded away with amulets and incantations...all but one...

"Lord of the Singing Caves," an elderly Orilk croaked as he untied his mount in disgust at the meaningless babble. "Controls the Voices, walks among them unharmed. Lead you to your death, he will, if you wander up there after dark."

He almost brushed the warning aside, but an inner voice had murmured a warning. "What does he look like?"

The old one was pleased at the attention from the mysterious outsider, and had shouted down her clan to speak. "A snow-spirit he is, eyes of the Bridge with _Dissil _stripes and _Goro_ horns, pale as ice. He leaves us alone now we don't travel there, but a foolish wanderer might incite wrath from him. He feeds on the souls the Voices suck from you, stores it in the crystals."

Fett tensed. Käzar was a pale-skinned Zabrak with black stripes and blue eyes, a close match to this description. He asked where the caves were.

"Up and away a bit, far back in the rocks, where the runners cannot go." This came from the younger son of the old Orilk, swathed in furs against the chill. "Follow the footpaths to the banded red stone, until the ground glitters beneath your feet. Drop into the valley then, walk into the Grove through the trees to the entrance. And pray you keep your self from Him and Them."

"Them?"

"Name Them and die!" His mother cried this. "Name Them and lose your ghost to Them, the Voices who live there. He may control them, but you are no Lord or spirit. If you name Them or walk into Their clutches, you will not live to collect this runner, outlander."

Boba Fett said, "I do not need to name the things I kill."

And the old one answered, "Neither do they."

* * *

Käzar laughed again as he sensed who neared him, almost weak with the irony. He recognised the Force-signature at once, imprinted on his memory by a battle long ago. A battle on a world so different from this that it seemed further away than merely the far edge of the galaxy. 

Geonosis, the desert world of sand and rock, where more than a hundred Jedi had been burned and killed by the beginning of the Clone Wars. Around him during the nightmare of blood and death he had felt a spark of anguish, turned in time to see a man drop headless at the feet of a council member. The spark had leapt to life in a small body not a hundred feet away, cowering in a cave while his father was killed.

He laughed at this memory of pain. The same little boy was now sliding down into his Grove, seeking to challenge him. A child he was, tormented by the death of his protector, a pitiful target. And he thought to challenge a Jedi!

He sent a whisper-thought into the humming caves, felt his servants answer.

_Bring him to me. Bring him alive._

They whined inside his head, begging. _Not the smallest nibble at him? We are hungry._

_Not the tiniest bite_, he said sternly. _Trap him and let me deal with him, and you can gnaw his remains to your hearts' content._

They had whimpered some more, but obeyed. _He will come._

_Of course he will_, the Lord told them smugly. _He is a Fett. _

* * *

_I am a Fett. I do not fear_. 

He knew as he said this it was a lie. Fear came to all beings, and he knew and accepted that. His father had told him-_do that which you fear most, and you will find the courage you seek._ He was doing that now.

The entrance had been half hidden between the evergreens and shrubs, the mouth a black portal to a mystery. Inside it was different.

Inside it was _beautiful_.

All along the walls and ceiling, scattered on the floors, heaped in piles of shimmering ice, where crystal. Not rough uncut rocks from which beauty must be hewn, but pure glittering brilliance like a field of frozen stars. The reflected light from the mouth was shot back and forth until it glowed brighter than the fading day outside, forming a corridor of sheer white. Soon after the opening was a split, a junction in the crystal pureness. Two corridors twisted away like snakes into the mountain.

One to the left, one to the right.

Following his instincts, Fett walked down the right-hand path, listening for any reflected sound. But as he walked on memory came back to haunt him... brought on by the flawless white walls...

_His father had been away a long time, and he was bored. Only seven years old then, and fearless, he had devised tricks and games to keep himself occupied. Eventually they had lost any real sense of adventure, and he had resigned himself to a miserable few days._

_A visit to the library had changed that, and sparked an idea. In the book the hero had disguised himself as a soldier to infiltrate an enemy castle and steal a miraculous gem. The young Boba Fett had immediately seen the possibilities with _that _particular scenario._

_After all, Tipoca City had soldiers in the plenty, and uniforms to match._

_He had used all the expertise of a bounty hunters son to steal a red uniform from a supply cupboard, and all his skills at lying to distract Taun We from her young charge. A clear run, an open corridor...and he was away in the night for a room on the very bottom level, right on the day his dad was due back._

_He had carefully mapped out his route to the chosen destination, a training station for the future pilots of the GAR. The prospect of a night on the flight sims had been enough to draw him away from his bed that night, and given him the courage to creep down the corridors to the darkened room..._

_It had never occurred to him to be afraid._

Fett pulled himself together and shook himself in irritation, hoisted the blaster in his hands higher, and walked.

Around him the humming of the crystal sounded almost like a faint chuckle.

* * *

Käzar hovered over the scene below, amused beyond measure. The child was already beginning to slip back along the pathways of mind, the pathways his servants were sooo_ good _at following. He relished the temporary setback, the bounty hunters' pulling away from the pain of the recollection like a runner shying from an abscessed foot. 

And now his servants were flitting down the corridor towards their prey, scenting the fear all beings carried within- that made such good eating.

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Ok, if you like it so far... I'll upload 2 more chapters a day if I get reviews saying I should. And only if.


	3. Chapter 3

Gratis, those two reviewers so far. Next two chapters are yours:)

A/N: Looks as though its going to end at 8 chaps. Hopefully. Bar any editing

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**Chapter 3 **

Fett stopped. If not for the helmet covering his face, he would have rubbed his eyes to clear them of the sight ahead- an _impossible_ sight.

Maybe it as the light, or his own eyes, but the passage ahead had melded and smoothed... the walls becoming white plastisteel, the floor flat plastoid. It stretched ahead into infinity, calling him onwards-

_Come home little one. We have been waiting_.

It was the corridor of his childhood, the one outside the apartment he had shared with his father. He had not seen it in... oh, more than a decade now. It felt like a lifetime.

It was the Jedi, it had to be. An illusion of the Force, designed to draw him onwards, hurrying in foolish hopefulness, or scare him away in fear of trickery. Well, he would do neither.

The E3 was gripped tighter in both hands, as he walked onwards with open eyes. As the passage wandered onwards, he felt a little light-headed, a strange emotion like hope and fear and bone-deep dread mixed up together where his heart should be. Stiffening his jaw, he went on.

_He had bored of the sims eventually, wandered out almost dizzy with artificial acceleration. The red uniform of a young clone trooper had become stiff with sweat and grime from sitting so long, and he knew he needed to have it washed before the supply officer checked his stores._

_So much in a hurry was he to get home that he didn't even notice the Kaminoan around the corner until it was far, far too late._

_Panicking at the thought of his misdeeds being reported to his father, he had fled with a yelp back down the corridor, hoping to double back on his pursuer. _

_Instead the pursuer had doubled back on him, cornering him in an abandoned test centre on the upper level. Grabbed from behind and lifted upwards, he had cried out loudly with part fear, part annoyance at being caught._

"_What is your number, young one?"_

_He had gaped a moment before laughing. The Kaminoan had obviously been fooled by his uniform into thinking he was a regular clone, instead of the son of Jango Fett. For a minute he toyed with the idea of carrying on the pretence, but weariness and pragmatism had made him speak the truth._

"_I'm Boba Fett, ma'am."_

_The Kaminoan- a female he had guessed- had looked at him thoughtfully before nodding her long neck. "Are you sure?"_

"_Yes ma'am." Sure? Why shouldn't he be sure? He knew who he was._

"_Very well." and she had carried him away down to the deeper parts, ignoring his protests that he lived up _above_. Unsuccessful at wriggling free, he had eventually let her carry him to a small room full of medical equipment, and a male Kaminoan that had looked at them with surprise. _

_His captor had spoken with the scientist- something to do with a 'deviant' and 'termination', whatever _those_ were- and it had only been when the scientist had ordered he be placed on the table and a shining needle brought before him that he had started to realise he was in deep, deep trouble._

_No matter how much he had screamed and struggled, it hadn't stopped the needle getting closer._

"Osik!"

The Mandalorian swearword shocked his brain out of the nightmare, bringing him back to the unreal world of the cave. He scowled at the smooth white walls, unnerved for the first time since- well, since the incident.

He certainly didn't need a krething relapse in the middle of a hunt, particularly a hunt for a powerful dark Jedi. Snarling mentally, he glared straight ahead with vengeance.

_Try that again, Jedi._

He had a feeling the dare was soon going to be taken up.

The next minute proved him exactly right.

* * *

_Now! Hunt now! Strike strike strike!_

Käzar felt the thoughts of the Voices as they converged on the bounty hunter, and he rejoiced. Now came his second most favourite part.

The capture.

* * *

_It can't be! This is _impossible 

A flicker had caught his eye, and he had looked up with wonder. There, disappearing around the corner- a figure in steely armour with a dark blue trim. A loved icon from his distant childhood.

_Dad!_

It occurred to him it was a trap. Of _course_ it did. He had been a bounty hunter since the age of ten, it would never have occurred to him _not _to be wary. He stalked down the corridor with the same grace found in hunting cats and lone sea carnivores. A predator's grace.

Eventually he abandoned his measured tread, walking faster until he was running through the limitless white, always just a passageways length behind his father.

"Dad! Wait!"

He cursed the words as soon as they left his mouth, but there was no help for it. He couldn't take them back now. Not that it made any difference- who or whatever was in front of him simply kept on walking, giving no indication of having heard.

He had just rounded the third corner, and put on a spurt to catch up with whoever it was ahead, when a pair of distressingly familiar persons appeared from the path his father had taken. Somehow he was unsurprised at what he saw when he looked up to see them, at the faces of a pair of pale Kaminoans, black eyes holes into a dead abyss beyond hope. They glared down at him.

"CT-1228, why are you not in the mess hall?"

Like an echo of the old nightmare, it reflected round his head. He closed his eyes, willing these illusions to leave.

_They are not there, they are not real. They cannot hurt you._

"I am Boba Fett," he told the hallucinations calmly. "Get out of my way."

They stalked towards him, hissing. "CT-1228, you are a liar and a deviant. You must be terminated."

He raised his blaster upwards at them, cool as only his fathers' son could be.

Or rather, he raised the hands that would have contained his blaster had it not taken an unexpected and unwelcome break from his reality. The moment's sheer horror of his gaze to his empty hands were all the Kaminoans needed. A pair of cufflinks snicked around his wrists.

"You must be terminated, for the good of the program," they repeated.

Stunned, he looked down at his hands again. And then further down.

He was wearing the red tunic, pants and black clean boots of a clone trooper, complete with the Tipoca City insignia on his shoulder. His old clothes, all his hidden weapons, his utility belt, his boots, his armour and helmet- all had disappeared

_Guess that explains the light-headedness._

The thought was so absurd he would have laughed aloud, if the situation had not been so dire. Angered and a little frightened, he started to struggle. Surgically precise fists met Kaminoan necks; sharp heeled boots met Kaminoan legs. By rights he should have severely crippled or killed them almost instantly.

Instead they hoisted him off his feet with impossible strength, one reaching for her robe pocket as he yelled loudly and swung to the right to face her. A slight prick on his left forearm was enough to tell him he had been suckered, before the nauseating sweetness of the muscle relaxant spread through his system. He fought it grimly every step of the way.

He knew what happened to deviant clones. He had faced it once in the underlevels as a seven year old, and he had no desire to face it again. Trick or illusion or living daydream, he wasn't going to go into the long dark without a fight, even if a fight was impossible. Even if he was fighting his own mind.

So he kicked and swore and hit until the relaxant had done its work completely, and he sagged limply in their arms. He watched with dull alarm as the same Kaminoan that had tricked him drew a needle from the inside of her robe for real, and pressed it into his arm.

As the drug clouded his mind and darkened his eyes he was sure that he heard laughter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Käzar _was_ laughing, delighted at the turn of events. The threat was removed, his servants excited at the prospect of new meat, himself with a new toy to play with until he tired and cast it aside to be consumed. Everyone a winner, save the pitiful creature trapped below.

Smirking to himself, he withdrew into the limits of his own skull, settling in like a crab into an old, comfortable shell. Jumping upright, he walked towards the door of his chamber, as the crystals sang around him.

Time for his favourite part.

The breaking.

* * *

Fett woke with the mother of all headaches and a vague sense of dread he couldn't quite place, until his eyes opened fully and he saw where he was. Instantly he was on his feet, heading for the door. 

Unfortunately his feet were not the steady supporters they had once been, and he stumbled into a smooth white wall, banging an already aching head. Muzzily he clutched at it, crisp red uniform like a bloodspot against the clean backdrop. He tried to think.

His thoughts would not gather and order themselves, and he gave up after his head threatened to burst with pain. Somehow he had got here – _here, where was here?_-, he had followed...someone- _my father my father_- who had lead him into a trap with Kaminoans – _they made a mistake, I am Boba Fett, I am not a clone trooper_. The walls pulsed and swayed around him, sickening. He slid to the floor.

The door opened and _his father_ walked in. His father, Jango Fett. He tried to stand again, but his legs had turned to straws and crumpled. He flinched at the look of contempt on the older mans' face, as he regarded to clone lying helpless in front of him. Panic washed through the clone in question.

_He doesn't know me!_

"D-dad," he croaked through the haze of pain and thirst. "Dad, it's_ me_."

His fathers' eyes were as black as space, and as cold. "And who are _you_?"

"I- I'm Boba Fett." He swallowed with a dry mouth. "I am your son."

The other snorted with complete and hurtful contempt, staring at Boba. "How can you be? I have no son."

_Has no son!_ "But I_ am_ your son, dad! I'm Boba...you raised me in Tipoca City..."

"I have no son." His face wrinkled with distaste, and his fingers spasmed on the helmet he carried underarm. "And even if I did, you could never be him. _My_ son would be brave."

Boba had never known such pain, not even on Geonosis. To hear his own father dismiss him as a coward... it hurt worse than all the blasters, vibroblades and detonations he had lived through in the twenty-eight years of his life. He closed his eyes, unwilling to look at the man who had hurt him so mortally.

The same man let his lips curl, as the one below him looked up again compulsively. "_My_ _son _would not be a cringing coward stupid enough to be caught by a pair of scientists. He would be the best of fighters, a cunning warrior._ You_ are just a clone, a piece of meat to be examined and destroyed at your creators' whim."

_No dad, that's not true, this isn't true, you can't be real..._ for the first time in nearly two decades Boba felt tears ting at his eyelids, and for almost the same reason. His father.

The door slid shut silently, and he was left alone. He no longer thought of illusions or trickery. He no longer cared.

* * *

Käzar smiled as he felt the anguish of the man beyond the door. The servant who had gone in, the Voice, dissolved into its true form and scuttled away. Kneeling at the entrance, he listened with delight to the muffled sobs beyond. This was going even better than he thought it would. 

Time to poison the mixture further, drag the prisoner downwards into despair by pushing him into the memory that had provided this rich tapestry of pain and horror. To show him the bleakness of past and reality.

He pressed his hands to the door and sent his will forth.

* * *

_It hadn't gone like this last time. Last time he had been saved._

_Just as the needle had touched his arm a fury of metal and cloth and T- shaped visor had burst through the doorway, shouting his heart out. The armoured hands of the storm bringer had flashed, once and twice, and left his sons captors clutching a broken arm and twisted wrist. The seven year old Boba had dropped to the floor and fled to his father with silent tears of relief, burying his wet face into the cold steel shoulder._

_Later he would learn that Jango had finished the assignment early, had come home to an empty apartment and felt his first pang of unease. Using all the skills he had learnt over his lifetime to track his wayward son, he had followed the trail to the underlevels, learned of the capture of a deviant clone, put two and two together, and raced to the science quadrant._

_His quick actions had saved the life of the most precious thing in his existence, and as he had clutched the child to him he had been trembling almost as much as Boba. Much later than that, after his fathers' death, Boba had realised how terrified he must have been as he sprinted towards that room, perhaps praying to all the gods he had heard of to protect his son until he could arrive. _

_A second or so too late and none of those gods would have saved his only true child from a swift death. Maybe afterwards he had thanked them in the silences of his heart for their mercy, promised extra vigilance from then on. If so, he had kept his word._

_He had never left his son alone again._

The son was huddled in a corner of the cell, uncaring and unknowing of his memories. His father, he knew, would be ashamed to see him now, and the knowledge only brought more pain. The words of the Jango that had visited- real or not- had shoved a spear of poisoned ice into his heart, and the pain was unbearable.

This was, of course, precisely the intention.

* * *

Käzar grinned. The prisoner was ready now. He could know the truth, and the Zabrak knew that this would only cause him to spiral deeper into despair, drowning in his own darkness. 

His servants would feed on it. Half of their strength depended on this emotion, the bleak despair and pain of their victims. The other half... would be satisfied in due time.

He straightened up and opened the door.

* * *

Boba glanced up, dully, before taking a longer second look. That face... somewhere in the back of his mind recall was screaming at him, wanting him to put a name to that face. Then everything- the bounty, the cave, and the journey - came rushing back in an unstoppable wave, presided over by the demon above him. 

The pale skin was corpse-white now, the blue eyes gone the stark yellow of sick firelight, the pupils diminished. On the greyish surface of his face black tattooed crawled in maggot trails around the lines of his features, framing a lipless mouth and gaunt cheeks, creeping up to black horns that poked through his flesh like dead trees through winter snow. He was tall, and thin, like an Alderaanian willow, and his hands snapped like pallid spiders. The brown garments of a Jedi Knight had been replaced with robes of white-blue, recalling the ice field in the furthest north. The slit mouth pulled into a grin as the light of recognition dawned in his victims eyes, and he hissed out slowly-

"Look on what you have been caught in, clone. And despair."

Instantly the smooth white lines of a Kaminoan detention cell faded into clear crystal, the binders on his wrists melted from bronze metal to a sticky substance no less strong, almost like spider webs. Instead of a red clone uniform he was in his everyday grey jumpsuit, devoid of armour but still familiar enough to offer some comfort in a bad situation. He looked up at his mark again, worn boots slipping on the rock floor as he stood.

The Lord looked almost pleased at his defiance, the rotted teeth bared in a feral smile. "What a pity- the son of Jango Fett to end his life like his father, at the hands of a Jedi. The ultimate fate of all Mandalorians, I fancy."

"You are no Jedi" The statement carried overtones of a snarl in it, as the bounty hunters' pride stiffened at the gloating words. His old personality, swamped before in the mire of memory and fear, started to resurface. He remembered who he was.

He was Boba Fett, and he cringed away from no-one.

The other gave a careless shrug. "No, I expect I can't be, can I? A Jedi would not have allied themselves with the _Mrirlsliq_, after all. I suppose I must be something different." His teeth flashed into view again. "Something better."

Boba Fett gazed at him coolly, refusing to rise. This dark-stained Jedi wanted to gloat over him, that much was clear. In a situation like this, all he could hope for was that his captor would let slip something of importance.

The others' smirk widened as the bounty hunter held his eyes. "Good, you should last longer than those others. They died you know, screaming for mercy. Begging for death. I broke them, as I will you." When Boba made no sign of hearing, he chuckled. "Sit down, bounty hunter, and I will show you the true horror of your situation."

Boba didn't move a muscle. He was _damned_ if he was going to obey some half-dead, half-mad ex-Jedi and his stance showed this as clearly as words. Käzar scowled.

"I said _sit_." He waved a hand.

The Mandalorians legs were pulled from under him at the sharp gesture, collapsing him on the floor. Pride dented, he used his tied hands to pull himself further upright, to find an unseen force – or Force- stopped him from going any higher than a seated position. He stopped the futile struggle, face as impassive as he could make it.

The Zabrak smirked at him, seating himself on a jagged piece of humming crystal, robes spreading around him like snow clouds. The rustling was the only noise in the room.

"You are confused. You do not understand." He nodded mockingly. "Perfectly understandable of course."

Boba said nothing, but glared wordlessly. He waited.

Käzar _tsk_ed slightly. "Every second you talk to me is a second more of painless existence, bounty hunter. Ask all your questions- any of them. The Force holds _all_ answers." More silence. "Eager to die, maybe. Well, so be it."

He gestured at the room. "_Bara Sagon Go Holsa_, The Cave of the Singing Voices. The Cave of the Mrirlsliq, a highly specialised and semi-sentient predator. They prey on the weak, the puny, and the afraid. On beings like you, in fact."

Boba didn't rise. "Some bravery at last? Very good. My existence here is made more bearable by beings like you. Something to occupy a rather boring stay on a backwards planet. Would you perhaps like to see one of your hunters?"

Käzar didn't wait for an answer, but turned his head towards the door. It swung back as another entered, and bowed to its master. Its stick-thin white body and spindly limbs were almost invisible in the dim reflected light, stark white eyes with no pupils gazed from the middle of a receding forehead and swept-back skull. It bared needle teeth in a mockery of a smile.

The darksider waved a careless hand at the soul eater. "Notice the talons on each paw, the spines on each wrist. Each secretes a numbing toxin, designed to overpower prey ready for eating. Much like a muscle relaxant." He smiled back at the creature proudly. "They are powerful in the Force, very much so. They use it to hunt. See the pads on each palm? Those are the reason you wear silken binders. Only a lightsaber could cut through them."

He leaned back, and gestured for the creature to go. It slunk out sinuously. "They sing to other sentients, to their fears and secret doubts. They use your hopes to draw you in, your own nightmares to capture you. Then they feed on your despair. I can tell you this, bounty hunter, because you _will_ despair eventually. You will break like the others."

He stood as fluidly as the Mrirlsliq, robes swirling. "There is no hope here. There is no escape from here. There will be no respite. They will torment you with nightmares that are real and reality that is untrue, until you are driven mad with fear and black lost hopes. Then they will kill you, and feast on you." The rotted teeth showed again. "Or not. Sometimes they wait for you to starve. That's the thing that drives most mad, you see- not knowing whether the toxin this time is real, the dagger solid, the fall true. Or if they are just dreaming, and will wake to more pain."

"You are going to die, bounty hunter. Unlike your father, you will get a chance to scream as you do."

"I am a Fett." His voice was quiet and calm as iron. "I will face any death, real or not, without fear."

"You think so do you?" Käzar stalked over and flicked his fingers in a strange gesture. The silken web around the bounty hunters wrists fell away. "Shall we put that to the test?"

Boba stood slowly, never taking his eyes from the fallen Jedi. An onlooker would have drawn parallels between his gaze and the stare of Corellian sand panthers when hunting bageraset herds on the yellow plains of that world, but with a difference.

Because while a sand panther will hunt with claws and fangs, Boba had only his own courage as a weapon.

Fortunately for him it was the courage of a Fett.

He leapt towards the Zabrak with panther-speed, as the cave turned to glaring light around them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

He landed on a dense canopy of leaves, rolling automatically to his feet before disappearing over the edge. Green light filtered through the thick crown of leaf and twig above, shafting down in spears towards the floor below. Flittering bugs swirled in the air around him, making spiral patterns in the humid oxygen-rich atmosphere. He crept towards the lip of his landing place, peering down cautiously.

A dizzying drop fell below him, so great he almost felt the gravity pulling him down. Slightly shaky, he shuffled backwards and looked around.

Käzar was seated quite comfortably on a protruding tree branch from the central trunk, watching his prey with a light-hearted inquisitiveness. He laughed nonchalantly as Boba started towards him.

"Have care, bounty hunter. Do you even know where you are?"

"I'm not _anywhere_ but in that filthy cave of yours," he spat back.

"Maybe your _physical _self is, but I can kill this manifestation just as well, and with the same results. Or maybe this_ is_ your physical self, and it is only the surroundings that are unreal." He chuckled again. "It doesn't really matter, of course. You'll end up just as dead. No-one to help you, is there?"

This time there were no words, but a deliberate pace towards his tormentor, who seemed supremely unconcerned.

"You forget this is _my_ reality, Fett. And I can move about it at will."

So saying that he vanished.

Boba swore with feeling and frustration for the next minute, before looking around again. Whatever place the twisted Force-user had thought up, it was getting dark and he needed to find a way out soon. He started to walk across to the neighbouring tree.

"You'll have to hurry, bounty hunter. Nights are dangerous here."

He spun at the voice but there was no-one there.

No one visible at any rate.

Grimly determined, he carried on.

Käzar had created the forest canopies of Kashyyyk to keep his options open while he rooted down the darkest parts of his victims mind. All beings had particular fears or horrors of death, whether it is burning, drowning, crushing, strangulation or even something more exotic. Somewhere he would find the worst of these, and subject his prey to it.

Mrirlsliq chattered around him eagerly, waiting for the scenario to be put in their minds. This was both their and his most desired part of the breaking, the exciting trawl through the bleak underlevels of a brain, and the picking out- like a child in a sweet shop- of which fear they would use for the day.

Something caught his attention, and grabbed hold of it with piercing claws. The soul eaters clamouring around him, he threw up the picture he wanted them to create and sat back to enjoy the show.

Boba had been wandering around the unreality for over an hour before he glimpsed his future in it. Halfway up to a higher level, he paused in the gloom and let trained ears search for a half-heard noise.

_There_. At the very edges of his perception, a low buzzing sound in the distance, like that of a swarm of flies. It irritated his hearing, but nothing more. Despite this, he felt a faint twinge of unease in his gut, something that in a Jedi would have been translated as a Force premonition.

In lesser beings it was known as _I have a bad feeling about this_.

He clambered up to matted leafy floor above, slipping on the trunk in his haste. The buzzing grew louder as he ran across the storey to the next tree.

"Needlebugs, I believe they are called. Quite vicious creatures."

He ignored the taunting voice and ran harder. Now was not the best of times for an enquiry and biology lesson, if those bugs were created by Käzar he didn't _want_ to know what they did.

Maybe the sadist sensed that, for he kept on talking with malicious pleasure.

"They lay their eggs in the bodies of their victims. What's left of them that is. The adults mature on the soft parts of mammal corpses."

Boba sped up. That didn't sound good.

"Of course any corpses on the canopy drop through, so they need to be certain of their food supply. Rather efficient killers, I'm told. They can scent a warm-blooded animal from over a kilometre away."

The buzzing grew louder and he realised he wasn't going to outrun them. He had to stand and fight. Boba quickly scanned the area for possible weapons.

"They chase their prey to exhaustion before attacking. No poisons to speak of, just a sharp proboscis and slashing feet. They swarm in groups of a hundred or more."

A loose branch provided something that was more in order of a comfort that a real weapon, but now was not the time for pickiness. He could already see a dark mass approaching, the buzzing setting his teeth on edge.

"They need hot blood to mature fully in order to mate. Naturally, they hunt to that objective- to keep their prey alive and warm as long as is possible for a tiny insect."

With a certain fatalistic sense he guessed what was coming next.

"They burrow under the skin and eat their prey alive."

What was it his father had said? _Do that which you fear most , and you will find the courage you seek._ What he feared the most wasn't advancing in a mass of black specks and high-pitched humming, but it was close enough to make him wish he had never set in foot in this accursed cave.

_The courage you seek._ He had spoken brave words to Käzar, and he was_ not_ going to prove himself a liar. He wasn't going to beg. He wasn't going to cringe. And he was going to go down _fighting_.

Holding the branch like a bat, he set himself for the onslaught.

Käzar watched as the bounty hunter braced for the oncoming fight, and smiled to himself. In this cave of Force-amplifying crystal, he could hear every thought in the mans mind, and relish the prospect of the change that would come.

As he looked on the swarm arrived.

The first wave aimed for his eyes and mouth, easy access to the soft flesh inside. Spitting out bugs that cut his tongue on entry, he flailed around with the branch to clear a space. They dodged aside easily, buzzing and zipping around his face, taunting him with sharp nips and small cuts before flying away.

It was futile, he saw that at once. The bugs were too small, too fast to fight with such a clumsy weapon. His only hope was to either run- or to wake up.

_I can't elude them. I can only escape them._

Steadfast, he stopped fighting and closed his eyes. The insects hovered a moment, hesitant at this lack of defence, perhaps wondering in their primitive minds- or rather, the primitive minds that had created them- whether he was playing a trick on them.

_They are not here. I am in a cave._

A few of the bolder ones edged forward, scenting the air for toxins.

_They are just illusions. They cannot hurt me._

The leaders apparently decided there was nothing to fear, and settled on his skin. The others hung back.

_It's all a trick._

The rest had started to sidle closer now, still hesitant. The leaders just sat and waited for them.

_When I stop believing they will go away._

They attacked as one.

All thoughts of calmness, all steadfastness, all defiance melted away as the first surge pierced his skin. Choking back a yell, his eyes snapped open and saw only night. They burrowed deeper, as he tore at his limbs in a vain effort to rip them out.

Still deeper they ate, agonising lines of fire trailing behind them. Face contorted in anguish, he could only watch as a second wave, and a third, flew forwards.

The pain multiplied beyond all numbers of the swarm, as if his senses were reading eight for every one that attacked. Searing red and acid green pain mingled with the backdrop of pure white hurt. Involuntary twitches raced across his limbs. He felt them eat their way to his centre, and doubled over as the first started to chew at his guts. His legs collapsed and he fell.

Knotted with suffering, driven beyond reason at the torment, he finally screamed at the uncaring sky.

And woke.

For one blissful second there was nothing but the walls of the cavern around him, soft white light and peacefulness washing away the nightmare. Then a face focused above him, and he bounded up in one movement.

Käzar chuckled. "And how are we feeling?"

He swept the room, seeing the humming crystals (_how he was starting to hate them_) the needle-mouthed circle of Mrirlsliq (_were they gleaming slightly in the dim?_) and the laughing Zabrak. Gems under his boots were crushed to dust as he sprang at his tormentor.

An invisible hand held him in place in midair, holding him suspended. No matter what he did, he didn't move a nanometre towards the gloating darksider. Instead he hung, petrified and furious.

Käzar sneered at him. "You pitiful coward, why do you rage at _me_? Is it _my_ fault that you are so gutless you cowered away from the first taste of pain we gave you? Rage at _yourself_, pathetic craven, for the deficiencies of your own will."

"_I am not a coward_." It was hissed out in murderous vehemence, spat at the object of his hatred.

"So _you_ say. I would show you what happened and disagree on that." The Zabrak leaned closer, whispering in a spiteful stream, "And it is what _I_ think that counts here, child. _You_ are nothing here. You are a pet for me to play with; you exist only to provide me with leisurely amusement. You are the contemptible remains of a man too feeble to prevent his own death, and you will end your life here at _my_ will. You are less than nobody now I possess you. You have no name."

He smiled contemptuously. "There is no-one who will miss you. There is no-one who will try to rescue you. You are alone, you have always been alone, and you will depart this life alone."

The anger was almost a living thing, a bloody serpent in his chest that howled for revenge, poisoning his blood with fevered venom. Even as he gathered himself for a snarled retort, the Lord sneered at him again.

"Not only are you a coward, you are a fool as well. I _feed_ on your darkness, on your anger and hatred, on your fear. It only makes me stronger. I use yourself against you, just as my servants do."

He rose, murmuring, "So by all means hate me, bounty hunter. It will only let me triumph over you as you die."

He walked out, wooden door closing with a splintering bang behind him. As if it were an explosion to break his bonds, Boba fell to the floor. The Mrirlsliq closed in with silent steps, eyes hungry.

He tried to fight them even as the nightmare took hold.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_There was fire everywhere. He remembered that in his dreams. Fire and light, metallic droids stalking uncaring through the haze of dust, equally indifferent Jedi bouncing back blaster bolts and severing limbs with every turn. Sparks and oil and blood and worse had mingled in the sand, slipping underfoot. He had been frightened that day._

_He was frightened now, but for a different reason._

Boba whirled and spun through the storm, severing hands and deactivating droids with surgical stabs of the weapon in his hand. Battle-rage had dimmed his vision, swamped his mind with a blessed veil of red that kept away pain. But there was still fear.

Because the weapon in his hand was a lightsaber, and glowed the colour of his nightmares.

It shone amethyst in the red-tinged air.

And around him the battle started to take a familiar turn, engraved into his memory for the last eighteen standard years.

He wasn't looking when he was attacked by the reek, when he lost the lightsaber. He didn't see as his body pulled it back with a whispered command into the air. He wasn't even aware as it ignited in his hand again and he stood, a puppet whose strings were being pulled by unseen masters.

All he saw was Jango Fett, diving for the lightsaber, being trampled by the reek, felling it with a swift blast to the head.

Turning towards him and starting to shoot.

Backing away as Boba ran towards his father, lightsaber humming with vicious joy in his hands. Shooting and shooting again, even when he must have known his jetpack had failed, refusing to run from such a hated enemy. Refusing to give up.

Determined to go down fighting.

_No! I have to stop!_

But he couldn't, no matter how much he tried to freeze his muscles, act just a second slower. All his pride, his iron will, even his love came to nothing, because fate had danced to this tune before and he couldn't change the past. Not even in his dreams.

The blade swung once and his fathers' blaster dropped to the ground in two pieces. Then the blade swung again.

As before it was now, the scene etched in acid on his living brain, endlessly replaying what happened next.

The lightsaber arced in his hands, and Jango Fetts' head fell to the ground.

Shortly followed by his body.

As Mace Windu had in the past, Boba stood over the corpse at his feet and stared as if paralysed. He stood as around him the battle raged on, vague figures swirling through the haze in a meaningless dance. He stood, heart frozen.

He had lacked the willpower to save his father, even when it was in his own mind.

At that moment the prediction of Käzar Elask came true, and he sank to his knees in despair so deep he thought he would drown.

As he knelt with his head bowed, he felt the Mrirlsliq feed.

_Who are you?_

The question came to him as he knelt in the dust, tears stinging his eyes for the second time in less than two days. Hot air rasped in his lungs as his head rose.

_Who are you, son?_

His father- his real father, not the pretend corpse in front of him- had asked him that once. After he had been told about the clone troopers, after Jango had said _you are my real son_. Boba had accepted that at the time, but after his mishap in the underlevels he had started to wonder again. They had thought he was just a clone. Was he?

Jango had tried to dissuade him, telling him again_ you are my son_. _You are nothing like them._ But Boba hadn't been quite so satisfied with that the second time, and he had started to get upset.

Naturally his father had tried to find a way of explaining, and had decided to do it with a question.

_Who are you, son?_

And the younger Boba had tried to answer. He had listed all the things he was.

_I am eight years old. I am the son of a bounty hunter. I am almost exactly four feet tall._

And his father had laughed and gathered him up into his arms again._ You forgot something, son._

_What's that dad? _He had asked that with chagrin at forgetting.

_You are loved by Jango Fett_, his dad had told him with a small smile.

Even now it was a comfort, a small spark of warmth in the cold ocean of misery he found himself sinking in. But now the question had a new meaning.

_Who are you?_

And again he tried to answer.

_I am Boba Fett. I am a bounty hunter. I am a Mandalorian._

Now he heard the voice of Käzar in his mind, whispering through him-

_I am nothing. I am nobody. I am a coward. I am weak._

_I am alone._

And again the voice answered-

_You forgot something, son._

"Dad?" he whispered. "What did I forget?"

_You are_ still_ loved by Jango Fett._

And as he heard the answer, he felt himself laughing. For the first time in too long.

_You are_ _still loved by Jango Fett_.

"Thanks for reminding me, dad."

Whether it was himself who had given voice, a trick of the dream or even a father who had never really left his son...it didn't matter. It never had. It never would.

Because the answer was a true one, and all the strength he needed came from those seven simple words.

_You are_ _still loved by Jango Fett_.

He stood, but he did not stumble. He looked around, and saw four Jedi near him.

All were watching with hungry eyes.

He looked down at himself. Same as always, but the jumpsuit had turned into the beige and cream uniform of a Jedi Master, the boots knee-high and polished under the grit, the lightsaber still clenched tightly in his hand.

He looked up again, but he felt no anger. Only a grim determination.

He had a weapon. And there was his enemy.

Right in front of him.

He raised his lightsaber and charged.

Käzar ran through the maze of passageways, chilled by what his servants were wailing.

Somehow- improbably, _impossibly_- the bounty hunter was turning back on his dream, the dream Käzar himself had plucked from the recesses of his mind to torture him. To finally crush what was left of his stubborn spirit into sand, ready to be sifted through, rebuilt and crushed again. All for his, Käzars', own entertainment.

Instead the four creating the dream- and feeding on the bounty hunter- had inexplicably started to panic mere moments ago, before he had lost track of their thoughts completely in a mist of fear. Moreover, their terror was fogging the crystal maze so badly he could no longer truly sense where they were, but was running blind to where he _hoped_ they would be.

An irony of the darkside is that its users often have to eat their words when it comes to their predictions, and find that they more often apply to the giver rather than the recipient.

_There is no hope here._

He swung and stabbed and laughed with joy, as the soul eaters scattered before him in panic. Occasionally one or another would try to fight back, changing the unreality around them so fast it was all he could do not to throw up in dizziness. But he didn't give up, or stop fighting.

The ground beneath his feet shifted- sand to ice to barren rock to leaf litter to swampy water- and it no longer mattered, because he was whirling so fast his feet weren't touching the ground, he was focused only on the faces of his enemy. And those had changed too.

At first they had been intimidating, figures of fear or awe in his younger days. Dooku, the Kaminoan scientists, Palpatine, even the faces of four clone troopers, all had passed before his eyes. As he had kept on coming and striking at them, their appearances had changed to more beloved sights- Zam Wesall, Taun We, Sintas Vel, even his father, Jango Fett... all in an attempt to weaken his resolve, slow his actions, throw doubt on what he was doing.

They were foolish to do so, for those last faces had only made him even more determined.

Finally he cornered them, cowering and beaten at his feet in a huddle of spiky limbs and terrified white eyes. He stood over them weaponless, for they had taken those away, vanished his lightsaber in the first few moments of attack. All he had left was himself.

It was all he needed.

As their own fear reflected back on them the world shifted again, and dissolved. Once more he stood in a strange crystal room on a desolate planet, in his plain grey jumpsuit. They whimpered as he stepped towards them.

Käzar had made a point of under no circumstances calling him by name, labelling him only 'child' and 'bounty hunter'. He had done this to nurture feelings of worthlessness and hopelessness in his victim, encouraging the darkness to grow and devour his soul. He had never realised that the last wasn't an insult, but a statement. And, unfortunately for the four Mrirlsliq, it happened to be what he was right now.

A bounty hunter never left a live enemy behind them.

Two minutes later he was sprinting through the maze.

Käzar stumbled around the corner of his chosen home, and stopped dead in shock. Before him lay his four servants.

What was left of them that is.

In their twisted stick-thin limbs and contorted faces he read the message left by their killer, a message he knew was intended only for him.

_I'm out, Jedi. Now the real fight begins._

The Zabrak swore into the chill air, voice bouncing off the surrounding gems. The bounty hunter child may have escaped for now, he might even blunder his way to his armour and weapons stowed safely away, might even start to hunt his intended prey. But he was no Jedi, not even a fallen one, and Käzar felt nothing for him but contempt still.

He swore to himself he would take Fett alive again. And this time, he would preside over the whole breaking himself.

Personally.

He vowed to the Force that even a rumour of what he would do to the bounty hunter would make beings shudder on the other side of the galaxy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Local Orilk had many names for the cave system Boba now found himself in. _Bara Sagon Go Holsa_, The Cave of the Singing Voices, _Far Kole Orin Aka_, Trap of the Soul Eaters and _Hor Sar Tarkil So_, Place of the Dreadful Death. And also another name from those who had heard the tales and tried to sum up the caves themselves.

_Ditutukil As_, The Labyrinth.

And a labyrinth it was. Every passageway seemed to turn back on itself, end in a dead stop or join up with an earlier corridor. Most twisted like dieing snakes, or sloped slightly downwards, or slightly upwards, or veered to some extent to the left or right so that any being unlucky enough to find themselves in the maze would be slowly turned back the way they came before they even noticed they had been herded into a trap.

None of the beings before had been Boba Fett, however. Although this only meant he _knew_ he was being lead around by the nose. There was not a great deal he could do about it.

Except keep on moving and hope he either wandered across his armour and weapons (or even someone else's, he wasn't going to be picky over that) or happened across Käzar Elask. He generally preferred the former option to the latter.

By the time he had raced his way into yet another dead end- possibly the tenth or eleventh, he hadn't really been keeping count- he started to get the very definite feeling that he was being played with. No prizes for guessing by whom.

The soul eaters had kept out of his way for the most part, evidently scared by what had happened to four of their brethren. But even if they couldn't attack him directly, he had still expected to be trapped in a dream again, or scared into another prison. The lack of any activity suggested that Käzar was taking his escape rather personally, and was preparing a reception.

Boba was determined that only one of them was going to walk away alive from that, either because he had finally killed the murdering, manipulative son of a Jawa...

Or because he himself had gone down fighting, refusing to be made a prisoner of.

And as the voice rang near his left ear as soon as he hit the stop, he decided he knew which one he wanted more.

* * *

"Do you think that by _running away _you will prove yourself to me?"

Boba turned on his heel, very slowly. There was nobody there.

"I do not need to prove myself to you."

The voice answered, disdainful. "To _yourself_, then. Is a panicked flight through my domain the answer to the truth you have learned here, that you are a coward and an idiot and you can only delay your own death by flight from my domain?"

"I am not running away from you, Jedi," he replied calmly. "I am running _towards_ you. I have a job to do, after all."

"Yes, yes, those fools on Coruscant have tired of my revenge, and so send one as useless as themselves to do their dirty work for them. Is this supposed to _frighten_ me, bounty hunter?"

"You tell me."

There was a pause. "Do you honestly think you can _kill_ me? You have no armour. You have no weapons. And you are so weak-minded and spineless I was able to manipulate you into killing your own father."

"Spineless enough that I was able to deal with four of your creatures."

"So... you have killed the servants and you think you can kill the master? Well, why don't we see about that?"

"Ready when you are, Jedi," he said evenly.

"Very well. Walk out of the tunnel and turn left."

He did so, tense and wary.

"Now take the central passageway."

The gems underfoot crunched as he stalked forward, checking each opening with suspicious eyes.

"Walk right then turn right again down the corridor by the entrance."

It was a small, and well hidden by the living folds of rock by the joining. So little used that the floor underfoot hadn't been worn down by countless feet, but remained sharp and cutting. He trod cautiously, and turned the corner. There was nothing.

"If you look to your left you will see a fracture in the rock. Pull at it towards your right side."

He gripped the sharp crystal gently, and pulled. The other side was wooden, a cunningly concealed entry in the side of the cave. It sloped sharply downward, beckoning.

"Follow the tunnel down. If you dare."

He dared, letting the false door slide shut behind him. The only light now came from the faintly glowing crystals around him, white, jagged and clear. He ducked under an overhang and looked up to see the end.

"Go through the door."

He hesitated at the sight of it. It was more than likely to be a trap. If he went through, who was to say whether he would find his prey, or end up in another cell?

"I am here, bounty hunter. I am behind the door. Are you too frightened to confront me?"

"I'm too clever to walk in blind," he said coolly.

"You don't trust me? I'm wounded. But as an act of faith..."

The door swung open silently. He could see the flicker of candlelight beyond.

"No more excuses, bounty hunter. Time to face the consequences of defiance."

He held his head up and stepped through.

The door slammed shut behind him.

* * *

Inside the cave was a comfortable room, if a little stark and bare. Niches had been cut into the shimmering sides, with fat white candles inserted within. A pattern rug with eye-watering black-and-white designs lay at the far end, beside two chests, one half-open to reveal a pile of books and scrolls. The floor had been worn smooth for the most part, the walls and ceiling as serrated as ever. The strange humming of the rest of the cave system was muted slightly, a low murmur rather than a constant song.

Käzar Elask stood on the rug, hand still caught in the gesture that had closed the door. In the muted candlelight he looked even taller than ever, towering over his hunter.

He waved his hand again, and the candles snuffed out, leaving the room in grey-white twilight. Another wave froze his quarry in place, locking muscles tensed for combat. He ignored the bounty hunter, but made for the second, closed chest, flicking the lock open. He pulled out a familiar object.

The helmet banged as he threw it to the floor, chipping the gemstone underneath. Käzar gestured to it.

"An object just as recognisable as its owner. I wonder, would anyone know you if you didn't wear it?"

Boba didn't answer, or pick it up. Käzar shrugged.

"A rhetorical question now, I suppose. We shall never find out."

He drew the helmet towards him with a whispered stream of the Force. It floated to his hand, and was placed carefully back in the chest. The lock _snicked_ shut, and he turned back to the motionless bounty hunter. For a moment his expression was a little sad, melancholy. Almost weary. He gazed at the man before him.

"And so you came." He sighed quietly. "You know, I almost hoped you would not? I almost hoped you would run..."

He saw the look on Boba's face and smiled faintly. "No, I am not frightened of you. I am simply a little fatigued, that's all. I had hoped you would see sense and save yourself a great deal of trouble. That you would admit defeat. I try not to do what I must do today."

He walked over to an alcove carved into the wall behind the rug, almost like a small window. As he sat in it, it supported his frame like a chair. "It tires me greatly. You know, you could surrender now. I give you my word I would not harm you."

"Except for locking me away and sending your minions to dream me to death." Boba's tone was biting.

"After what will happen now, you might prefer that." He shifted position. "Are you sure? I could grant you a quick death. You must know by now I am not going to kill you...immediately."

"You should have taken the chance when you had it," Boba replied, "because I have no qualms about killing _you_."

Käzar smiled, a hint of his own sneer coming back. "Such conceit will make this easier for me, I must admit. But I will give you one last chance. Surrender."

"No." It came out as flat and hard as a starships' landing pad.

"So be it." He stood and drew himself up. "Prepare yourself, bounty hunter."

Boba curled his hands into fists and leapt, just as the Force Lightning hit his body and threw him into a universe of pain.

* * *

This is agony.

From the outside it is invisible, noticed only by the smoking of individual hairs, the crisping of nerve endings, the bluish tinge that outlines victims' bones. Its only sound is screams, its only taste is the tang of metallic specks in the air. Its touch is electricity, and it smells of the sea.

From the inside it is different.

Inside it has the appearance of a spectrum of colour, white turning to red, to acid green, to livid blue, to glaring yellow. It sounds like the crackling of an enormous inferno, a hungry monster that splinters bones between its teeth and growls with pleasure at the taste of flesh. It tastes like blood on your tongue, and bitter salts that rasp your throat, it feels like fire caressing your limbs. It smells like smoke.

Even the briefest of respites doesn't help, because it would take too long for the fire to die, for the monster to be satisfied and stop chewing at you. And so all that happens is that the screams change to sobs, and subside.

Käzar kneels beside your shuddering body and reaches out to touch your forehead. The hand is icy, and flames against burning skin.

"You could give up. Just say so."

And the reply he gets doesn't surprise him at all. "No."

"Very well."

The monster roars again, and starts to devour its way towards your heart. No matter how you kick and struggle, it won't go away or let go, but keeps on eating, growling with pleasure. Then the fire comes and drives it away, to burn what is left.

Now even your own body is no longer under your control, because the pain takes hold of your muscles, twitching _this_ way and _that_ way, pulling puppet strings as it hits your nerves. It takes over your hands, and makes them claw at the floor in hope of escape, takes over your voice, so all you can do is scream. It takes over your eyes, so all you see is white.

And it controls your brain, so all you can think of is your suffering.

As the maelstrom crackles around him, Boba Fett forgets all his plans of escape or retribution, and starts to sink into the white sea of his pain.

It has currents, this sea. It pulls you under, swamps any attempts at surfacing with high waves and undertows of force. It smothers your nose and mouth, so you can no longer breathe, but only gasp like one drowning.

But some are buoyant enough to keep near the surface, and Boba Fett is one of them.

In between the screams and gasps for air, he manages to choke out, "Stop! Stop! I give up!"

And the ocean of agony recedes, leaving him on the beach of mere hurt.

"What?"

"I give up," he pants. "I surrender."

"You surrender?" Käzar might experience suspicion, but the ultimate weakness of the darkside is arrogance. He feels only triumph. "You will no longer resist? You will let them dream your future?"

"Yes...yes." He stirs slowly, like a man too tired to move. "I will. Just don't hurt me any more. Please."

The Zabrak walks over to him, gloating over the recumbent body. "I told you, bounty hunter, you could have saved yourself this."

"I know." He shifts again, the smallest amount of motion, so he stares up directly at his tormentor. "I should have obeyed. I'm sorry."

The crystals behind him give Käzar an unearthly glow, highlighting him with radiance. "No need. I think you have learned your lesson."

"There is something... something you should know... about the bounty..."

He leans over slightly, his head cocked. "Oh?"

An explosion of movement erupts below him, as Boba throws himself up like a springing panther, a striking snake. His fist swings, unstoppable as the wheel of time, and smashes into the Zabrak with horrible force. Both are thrown into the wall behind, and there is a gut-churning _crack_ and _crunch_ as they hit.

Boba, still shaking from the Force Lightning, steps back. Käzar melts down to the floor, eyes open in horror, blood flowing from his mouth. The back of his robe and head is a mass of red pulp.

Behind him the crystals of the wall glitter through the gore like stars.

He watches with distant pain as Boba walked over to the chest, broke the lock, and retrieved his gun. He sits in helpless agony as his attacker throws off the safety catch and takes aim.

"I get just as much for you dead," are Boba's words, before he fires.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Boba Fett, Mandalorian, legendary bounty hunter and feared icon of the galaxy's underworld emerged from The Cave of the Singing Voices and breathed the cold night air with gratitude. Everything about his exterior- from his scratched armour to his blaster to his clothes- was the same.

His interior was a little different.

Inside he was still recovering from his experiences, still seeking to absorb what he had discovered in the Trap of the Soul Eaters into his mind without changing the best parts of himself. To assimilate what he remembered with what he knew was real.

And stop the horrible feeling that wouldn't shake off, that it was all just a beautiful dream and he would wake into a nightmare.

Two things help him to keep the feeling at bay. One is himself and his pragmatism, if he is dreaming this wonderful moment, he no longer cares.

The other is hanging on his belt, still smeared with the blood of its former owner.

He walks away through the Grove, less than a shadow to disturb their leaves, a piece of the night wind to float away at sunrise. He pulls a holocom from a pouch and types in a frequency that can only be used once.

A tiny blue ghost appears in his palm, hardly doing justice to the man it portrays.

"_I sincerely hope you are contacting me with news of success_," it rumbles.

"I found and killed the Jedi," he replies. "I am already on my way with his lightsaber."

"_I would have preferred the traitor alive_."

"Impossible at the time. I did the only thing I could."

"_Very well. Journey to Coruscant at once, to back up your claim. You know what your reward will be._"

"I will be there."

"_Perhaps I will have another assignment._"

With that the ghost flickers and dies, fading to a wisp of nothing. Boba stands for a moment and thinks of his future, and his past. He wonders what the present will lead to, and what has led to it...

And starts to walk up the mountains, towards the rising sun.

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**Gulp Well, I hardly dare ask, but... what do you think?**


End file.
